


The Viking Down Yonder

by Emiliya_the_Cossack



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Gen, Headcanon, Sweden pretends to be a jerk, and surprise plot, don't write off Slovakia, it's not gonna be what you think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-01-27 20:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21398332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emiliya_the_Cossack/pseuds/Emiliya_the_Cossack
Summary: Slovakia never meant to leave Russia's "wonderful" land of Soviet Socialist Republics, and she certainly didn't mean to end up in HIS yard...
Relationships: Sweden/Ukraine (Hetalia)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, quick thing, because I know I'm going to be asked about it because I have every time I tried to explain this story, I know Slovakia in the manga is not a girl. However, for this story Slovakia needs to be a girl for it all to work out. So bear with me, read on, and enjoy the story! It will all make sense in the end... *mysteriously disappears into the void while assuring reader*

Snow.

It was one of those things you either loved or hated. In most cases, she had observed everyone seemed to hate it. The Baltic Trio often stood by the fire during the coldest part of the season, shivering away like three big wimps and discussing in hushed tones how they wished they could visit somewhere warmer. Russia often made quiet mentions of his desire to visit somewhere warm, a place with a beach. This was especially prevalent during his failed canal attempt, where he spoke of little else but sand, sun and warm waters. Belarus appeared to care little if it snowed or not. She rarely spoke in any case, anyway, only sat around glaring at everyone and daring the younger Bloc members to come close to her.

In such cases it seemed the only ones who did care enough about the snow were those who knew how to play in it. But even they were beginning to wonder how much longer they would have the energy to put into their small leisure time as Russia's shadow and grip grew tighter and tighter on what they could and could not do.

Slovakia, also known as Dominika, took in a deep breath of the cold, crisp air before letting it out with a hard cough. Shaking her strawberry blonde hair, she looked back over her shoulder to observe Czech, Romania and Bulgaria who were taking their time in climbing the hill. Wimps. Well, Czech at least was. He was not much older than her, he could keep up if he truly tried. Romania and Bulgaria she could excuse a bit, they were worked harder than she was. Still, she'd hoped the excitement of sledding in Finland's backyard would have spiked some enthusiasm from them. No matter, perhaps their pace would pick up once they saw the beautiful view she herself was now enjoying.

Ah, Finland. Such a nice place to go and visit. One of the few "westernized" countries Russia permitted them to go and explore. Finland had good relations with Russia and he trusted the young blonde more than he did any of the other modernized countries that surrounded his vast Soviet empire.

A small smile played across the young girl's face. She hoped Finland would be home today and not at a Nordic meeting. He made some of the best desserts, and she would love to get her hands on one of his omenakakku cakes. Oh, could he make a good apple cake!

"Hurry up, losers!" she yelled, turning her attention back on the three sledders ascending the hill. "We don't have all day!"

"Shut up, Slovak!" Czech yelled back. Her older brother by about two years, he had a distinctly Germanic look to him while she was an obvious descendant of the Slavs. The three young men dragged their sleds behind them up the slope. "Stop telling us what to do, that's disrespectful!"

In human years she would be considered twelve, though her people and landmass had been around much longer than that. She wasn't much to look at, a fairly average young girl who had yet to be of any sizable stature. She also lacked distinct feminine features, having not yet hit puberty.

No matter, Ukraine promised that would happen in good time when she grew older. "And perhaps if you get some more meat on your bones," the Slavic woman had murmured, caressing Slovakia's cheek. "You need to fill out some before that time comes."

Fat chance of getting much more to eat. The thought of food made her stomach growl. Dominika pushed the thought out of her head, focusing once more on the landscape. 'Don't think of food. Don't think of food.'

A good, hardy meal was something they'd all gone without for many, many years. The Eastern Bloc Home was not known for its abundance. 'Please, please let Finland be home today,' she thought to no one in particular. Not God, no. He wasn't allowed in the Eastern Bloc.

If Finn was there he'd give them something to eat. He was good about that. It was hard to believe he could be such a devil if he chose to be. The Winter War was not lost on Slovakia's memory, though, nor the fact Finland had driven Russia right out of his own home before settling with a truce. Not many countries could do that without allies.

Ah, at last! Here came the three boys. Dominika shivered and rubbed her arms, glaring at the boys to prove they had taken a bit too long. Romania had none of it, though, he simply laughed and tousled her hair.

"Impatient one," he teased, his fangs showing. "This is a nice hill, though."

"Except for one thing," Bulgaria, or, Bogomil, mused, green eyes surveying the hill.

Czech came to stand next to her, teeth chattering. "Why do we do this to ourselves for one or two joyrides down a hill? We should use our break time better than this. Fantastický, completely fantastic."

Slovakia felt a bit indignant. She glared at her three comrades, attempting to disprove there was any possibility she too, might be cold. This had been her idea, she wanted to at least make it sound like it was good. "Best hill in Finland, Timo showed it to me himself. It's got a good slope, not too steep but long enough we'll get a really good ride out of it. See for yourselves, doesn't it look fun?"

"Except..." Bulgaria shuddered, stepping back from the slope. "There's that house down there."

"Where?"

Dominika followed Bogomil's pointed finger to find there was indeed a small home not far from the bottom of the slope. Far enough away that she doubted they'd cross into the area, but close enough her curiosity was spiked.

"Finn doesn't live out here," she commented.

"No." Now Romania's voice plunged. His red eyes widened, he dropped the sled he was carrying with suddenness. "That's the border to Sweden. That's Mr. Sweden's home!"

Mr. Sweden's home? Surely they jested! One look at the two Balkan men, though, changed Slovakia's mind when she saw the fear in their eyes. Both of them turned back towards the way they had come up.

"I thought he lived in Stockholm!" Dominika protested, snagging Czech's arm when he made a move to leave, too. "What's so scary about him anyway? He's a neutral country."

"Ha! So he says! Sweden terrorized us when we were but children. He used to chase Russia, Dominika. He's bigger than us, stronger, and experienced. He was a Viking!" Romania was growing passionate with fear, not hard to do considering. He was apt to such bursts of emotions like this. He grabbed Slovakia's arm. "We should go. Let's not chance it."

She jerked herself out of his grip with a growl, her temper flaring. "I put all this work into coming here today and you want to bail on me? Wimps!"

"Yes, we're wimps," Bulgaria agreed. "Now let's go."

"You can't prove to me that's his home," she challenged.

"What does it matter?" Czech said, at last speaking up. He frowned at his younger sister, tugging her hair. "If it's Sweden's territory we shouldn't go there."

"Finn said this place was fine to sled on." She couldn't believe it. This was the first time in a couple weeks they'd had more than an hour off from their tasks Russia assigned them. They didn't get such an opportunity often. "He wouldn't lie. Please, Dorin." She made puppy eyes at Romania, an easy target with his doting relationship on Moldova. "Please."

Romania blinked, blinked again, and moaned, looking away. "Sweden could kill us. Or do something awful. He's scary. So scary."

"Very scary," Bulgaria agreed.

"Terrifying," Czech voiced.

That last one earned a hard look from Dominika. "You never met Sweden, Czech," she snapped.

"Heard enough about him to form an opinion," he returned. "Come, Slovak."

She set her sled down and pointed it in the direction of the slope. "Fine." Slovakia leveled her eyes at the three men, thinking perhaps it would have been best to ask little Moldova to come with her today instead of these three whiners. "Watch me."

"Slovak, no!"

Too late. She flopped herself onto the sled, the quick movement enough to send the sled propelling down the slope. Faster and faster she went, faster than she'd expected. It was steeper than she thought. And she was going too fast. Far too fast.

Maybe this was a bad idea...

Behind her she could hear shouts and yells from her three neighbors and comrades. "Turn, Dominika, turn!" Dorin yelled.

Turn. Turn. He was right, she needed to turn the sled. She was making a beeline for the small house below, which was now far too close for her comfort. A fence line had appeared, and what looked like shrubs surrounded the property.

She was heading straight for it.

Jerking on the handle of the old fashioned sled, she found to her dismay it was stuck. No!

No it couldn't be! She'd just fixed it! Slovakia jerked it again, pulling with all her might. No luck. She couldn't get the runners to change direction. Faster she went, right in the direction of the fence-

A bump. She was flying through the air. Now falling. Crashed. Rolling. Rolling so fast, she couldn't stop herself. She ran into one object. Then another. Something cracked. Was it her bones or something else? Pain, pain! Was someone yelling from the hill? Noises. Everything was white. Now it was black.

Everything was black.

Everything hurt.

Oh she was sleepy now.

Dominika blinked, her eyelashes covered with little white snowflakes. She tried to take in a deep breath of air but found her breath knocked out of her, she couldn't breathe. Panicked seized her. The sky above was dark and odd looking, part of it was dark blue and the other part a light blue, like big, black clouds covering part of the otherwise clear sky. She coughed, coughed again, and then took in a sharp breath of air. Oh! Her chest! Oh it hurt, hurt, hurt!

Taking another shuddering, coughing breath, she blinked some more until the snowflakes melted from her eyes enough to be able to see-

A cry rose in her throat. She was on her feet so fast the big man in the blue overcoat had no chance to get a good hold on her. He caught her coat sleeve but she jerked herself away from him, her coat staying in his arms while she ran, ran, ran. Back for the hill, back for Russia, back to safety from the man in blue.

Slovakia didn't look back, she simply ran for all her life's worth. Terror gave her the energy she needed over the injuries she'd sustained, she pushed the pain out of her brain and fled for the hill. Neither of the three eastern countries who had accompanied here were in sight. They'd disappeared.

Upon reaching the top of the hill, she was caught by the heel and drug down the other side. She squealed.  
"Shut up and ride, Slovakia!" Czech snarled, throwing her onto his sled. Romania and Bulgaria were at the bottom, waving frantically for the two. Czech pushed off and they flew down the backside of the hill, back into Finnish territory. Not Soviet but still safer than whatever she'd just stumbled into back there.

They reached the bottom of the hill, Bulgaria grabbing her arm and pulling her up. "Did he hurt you? Stab you? Are you okay? We need to go!"

Slovakia could barely breathe, let alone answer. She slapped Romania away when he tried to check her neck for injuries in case his vampire side kicked in and he bit her, then pushed away from Bulgaria.

"Jerks, you guys almost let me be killed!" she gasped. Dominika shivered, coat-less and very aware of it. "What if he comes for me?"

"I doubt he got a good look at your face, he probably has no idea who you are," Bulgaria encouraged. He pointed to the snow covered territory ahead, nary a tree or shrub in sight. "But if we don't leave now he'll catch up with us. Let's get out of here!"

She needed no second invitation. Following in the footsteps of the three boys, Slovakia forced herself not to look back and see if the man in blue was watching her.

Slovakia didn't need an explanation to know the man who had towered above her, glaring down with fierce green eyes and a scowl like death was none other than Mr. Sweden himself.

'That's the last time I trust Finny on a good sled hill.'

The boys were right though. She relaxed just a tad and let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

It had only been a second, maybe more. He couldn't possibly know who she was. No way would he find her. So long as she didn't wander into his territory again, she was safe.

At least, so she thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Arriving late at the Eastern Bloc Home was something akin to that of declaring you were leaving the Bloc.  
In short, you got punished for it.

Slovakia set another dish into the sink and winced, rubbing her sore backside. She supposed it was better than being caught by the terrifying Mr. Sweden, but a lashing from Russia was no small matter or anything to put aside. It hurt. It hurt a lot. Dominika decided it was nonetheless more merciful than what the boys got- it wasn’t the backside they had tanned, but their actual backs.

The boys were pretty sore with her today, both literally and temperamentally. Nobody was very happy.

“Slovakia, dear, please wash faster.”

Slovakia shook her head out of the trance she was in and handed the plate to Hungary. One of the few females at the Bloc Home, Hungary was by far Slovakia’s favorite country to spend time with. Other than Ukraine, of course. Before Czech and herself had been given independance after the Great War, Dominika had grown up in Elizabeta’s home and adored the Balkan woman. She was strong, smart, kind and gentle. Though at times she felt a bit selfish thinking it, she was glad Hungary was in the Bloc home. The Soviet House was for those who were actually part of Russia’s country. The Bloc home was for the servants, which she, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria, Czech, Prussia, Poland, Albania and Yugoslavia lived in. Having Hungary here not only gave Slovakia another girl to room with, but someone to talk to.

“I heard about last night.”

Slovakia took that back. She liked talking to Hungary except right now. Why was it that everyone knew about her punishment from yesterday? She’d hoped it wouldn’t get out but, of course, it did. The boys were blabbermouths, even about whippings. Plus they were mad at her since it was her idea to go sledding in the first place, and her fault they’d been late. At least they didn’t tell anyone about the encounter with Mr. Sweden. They’d all agreed that the less Russia knew about that the better, otherwise they’d all be doomed for some serious questioning as to if they’d been “Westernized” in the time they were around him or not. Not to mention the complications that would cause, should Mr. Sweden get an idea who was trespassing on his property.

“Who told you?” Dominika muttered, handing her another plate. “Romania? Czech?”

“I heard from Ukraine,” Hungary said softly. She paused, looked down at Slovakia, then turned back to her work with a sigh.

Slovakia squirmed. If there was one thing she hated it was disappointing Hungary. Hungary was like… well, sort of like a mother to Slovakia. In a way. In other ways she was like a big sister. Hungary had raised her and Czech with her husband Austria before the break up. Dominika had always felt a rather strong attachment for her.

“Why was Ukraine talking about it?” she mumbled.   
Another dish cleaned. They were almost done. She wondered if she’d be able to get outside and play for a bit, then remembered Russia had put her on extra duty for the next week. Wah.

“Because she’s concerned about you, Slovakia. Ukraine adores you.” Hungary stopped drying the dishes, her eyes searching Slovakia’s. At first Dominika couldn’t decide if she should avert her gaze or meet it dead on. In the end she held Elizaveta’s gaze and then looked away, just to give the impression she was listening but not too much so Hungary would continue on.

“You know to Ukraine, you’re very special,” Hungary commented.

“Well she’s special to me, too.” The last dish was handed off. Slovakia dried her hands and climbed onto the counter, peeking out the window. It seemed Moldova was outside attempting to build a snowman. Good luck with that, it was ten degrees outside. Snow didn’t stick well when it was cold, only when it was above freezing. “Ukraine is the nicest person in the Soviet House.”

“Is that so?”

Slovakia caught a screech in her throat. The big hand closed on her shoulder. She didn’t move, didn’t try to escape. Dominika stayed where she was on the counter.

Russia let out a high giggle, which was the only way to describe his laugh. He gently hauled Slovakia off the counter, the young girl locking gazes with Hungary long enough to see the infuriated fear in the older girl’s eyes.

“Ukraine is nice, da,” Russia agreed, turning Slovakia to face him. She looked up at his big figure, doing her best not to shudder under his grip. He smiled down at her with what appeared an innocent look, but also one she knew could hold so much maliciousness. “She is my favorite sister.”

“Da, Rossiya,” Slovakia respectfully replied.

“She is good woman, da?”

Question or statement. With Russia it was hard to tell. “Da, Rossiya.”

“And she like you very much, Slovakia. So much that I do not want to punish you hard.” Russia bent down until he was eye to eye with her, his purplish-blue ones boring into her green. He didn’t speak for a bit, only stared at her. Dominika refused to look away, but didn’t challenge his look, either. Russia was searching for something. Fishing. She didn’t know for what, but she knew it was best to let him poke around than resist.

“Slovakia,” Russia began. His voice had lost his playful edge. “I think you do not tell me all truth yesterday about sledding in Finland’s yard. There was something else, da? Did you meet someone?”

No. No. No no no no he couldn’t know. No! This was bad. Slovakia didn’t respond, or reply. She opened her mouth to reply, to say no, she hadn’t met anyone, when a shriek from outside sent Russia to his feet.

“Moldova?” Russia muttered, amazed. He strode for the front door in quick steps. “Moldova!”

“Moldova?” Hungary repeated. “Nem! What has gotten into that boy?”

Whatever it was scared him enough to send him flying into the door just as Russia opened it, slamming into him.

“Brother Russia brother Russia!” he squeaked, his tiny little hat tilted all the way over to the side. He pointed with a sleeved arm out the door, his little feet shaking. “Brother Russia he is so scary!”

“Who is?”

“That man!”

Scary. A man. Slovakia’s breath caught. No, could it be…?

Russia saw someone. His lips turned up in a big smile, his eyes glinted with a mixture of mischief and apparent distaste. He stepped outside the door and slammed it shut, leaving Hungary, Moldova and Slovakia alone.

“Hungary where is my brother Romania? I need Dorin!” Moldova cried, tugging on Hungary’s skirt. “I’m scared! Where is Dorin!”

“Calm down, Yoet,” Elizaveta consoled. “Surely he can’t be scarier than our own Comrade Russia.”

Moldova’s matching red eyes to his true big brother Romania widened. He shook his head, his long sleeves flailing over his arms while he waved his hands in the air.

“Nu, nu!” he protested, his little fangs showing. “Nu, he’s much scarier.”

Dominika reached back and put a hand to the counter, trying to steady herself. Much scarier…

And Russia wasn’t keen on him…

Hungary had enough of this nonsense. She patted Moldova on the head and went straight for the window, peering out.

“Who is it, Elizabeta?” Slovakia barely managed above a whisper.

'Please don’t be him. Please don’t be him. Please don’t be-'

Hungary gasped, stepping back from the window. She’d barely gotten out the first part of her sentence, “It’s Sweden!” before Slovakia bolted for the upstairs room she and Hungary shared, heart tearing at her chest like it was about to pop out.

“Slovakia! Slovakia, dear!” Hungary called for her.

“See? Slovakia is afraid, too!” Dominika could hear the voice of Yoet insist. “He really is scary…”

Inside the bedroom, the small nation locked the door and put a chest against it, her own heart beating so hard she could have sworn it was going to burst. She could barely breathe, let alone think. He’s out there. He’s out there and he’s talking to Russia.

There could be only one reason he was here. Oh how did he know! How did he know about her? What was she to do! What did this mean? He was telling Russia, no doubt, all about her trespassing on his property yesterday. Why had Finn told her it was fine to sled on that hill? Why was this happening to her? Why, why, why?

Cursed she was, that’s what. If she’d thought being spanked by Russia with a fine bunch of willow branches was bad, whatever punishment she’d receive from him after this incident…

She couldn’t bear to think about it. Slovakia cowered in the corner of the room, next to her sorry excuse of a bed, and began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun... Hope you're enjoying reader. Since there's a Soviet house it made sense to me there was an Eastern Bloc Home. I hope you're enjoying the story! Thanks for reading thus far.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Ukraine came to the door, Slovakia could tell whatever was going on down below in the deep snows spelled only more and more trouble for her.  
It took her a bit to compose herself, but she'd come to her senses and decided crying wasn't going to get her anywhere. She was strong and tough, she had to be to survive life under the shadow of Russia. At long last she'd gathered the courage up to face her fears and went to the window, only to cower at the windowsill when she caught sight of the man in blue.

For starters he was as big as Russia. They stood across from each other, Sweden with a horse at his side and reins in hand, staring at the Slavic country with a hard and terrifying look. He wore thin wire glasses and had the most horrid glare Dominika had ever seen. He was blonde, like a good Swede should be, and held himself like a soldier. He wore a long blue overcoat, and surprisingly was hat-less today. She wondered why he'd been stupid enough to go out in the snow without a hat, then decided it must be because he was so epicly scary and bad guy he didn't need a hat.

And Russia seemed to respect him. Well, with whatever respect Russia had, which wasn't much. He was the biggest country in the world, after all, there wasn't much reason for him to fear anyone.

Judging by his body language, though, Slovakia could tell Mr. Sweden was not someone Russia particularly enjoyed talking to- and most certainly wasn't enjoying it right now.

A soft rap came at the door, followed by a key being inserted. Slovakia didn't bother to turn and face who it was, she knew. She continued to stare below and watch as Russia gestured here and there, Sweden never moving, never reacting, and rarely opening his mouth to say a word. He looked angry. 'Ohhh I'm so going to die for this.'

The door opened a bit, hitting the chest Slovakia had pulled in front of it. "Dariya, dear, what are you doing? Are you okay? Child, please let me in."

If it had been anyone but the one present, Slovakia would have ignored them and let the wrath of the Soviet Union fall upon her. She was ornery in her own right, but for Ukraine she'd do anything.

Standing up she crept to the door and pushed the chest away, letting the Slavic woman in.

Ukraine stepped into the room, her blue eyes searching Slovakia's with concern and worry. "Dariya child, what's going on?"

With one hand she pointed down at the window, her lips barely moving as she uttered the words, "Mr. Sweden."

Ukraine scurried over the window to look, a look of horror crossing her face at the former Viking standing in front of her brother. Slovakia trailed over to look as well, ducking behind the curtain when the Swede happened to glance up their way.

"What is he doing here?" Ukraine murmured.

"I'm going to die."

Dominika slumped to the ground, pulling her knees close. Her patched skirt was still damp from the tears she'd shed earlier. It would take all she had in her not to cry again.

Which wasn't much, considering the second Ukraine sat down with her and put a comforting arm around the young nation, she began to choke back tears.

"There there, it's alright," Yekaterina soothed. The Ukrainian woman held Slovakia close to her, arms wrapped around in such a way she felt no one could harm her now. "Now tell me, Dariya, why are you so afraid of Mr. Sweden?"

So she did. She launched into yesterday's long and wild tale, already old enough she felt like it had taken place a year ago instead of twenty-four hours. She told of her punishment, the anger of the boys, and how Russia had suspected there was something more than she'd shared.

"Now he's down there with Sweden and I'm sure Sweden told him everything." Slovakia shuddered, her tale now finished. She curled up closer to Yekaterina, breathing in the sweet smell of flowers and berries. Somehow Ukraine always managed to smell like that, despite the fact she didn't wear perfume. "I'm in so much trouble, Ukraine. So much trouble. I'm afraid. I heard crunches when I fell yesterday, but I don't know what I hit. I think I destroyed something of Sweden's."

"Child, Sweden is many things but cruel he is not. He would never tell Russia what you did," Ukraine assured her. "I'm sure there's another reason."

Slovakia sort of doubted that. "Like what?"

A flush to the Slav's cheeks. She looked away, withdrawing her arms from Dominika. A small sigh escaped her lips. "I don't know."

"It can't be good," Slovakia insisted. She crept back to the sill and looked out. Oh no. Where was Russia? Mr. Sweden was out there by himself. He glanced back up at the window and she hid, hoping against hope he hadn't seen her. "He's never visited before."

The door banged open, sending Slovakia into Ukraine's arms with a squeak. Ukraine clutched Slovakia as both beheld the largest nation on earth in front of them.

"So Slovakia," Russia said sweetly, closing the door partially behind him. The curious and fearful eyes of the other members of the Eastern Bloc disappeared out of sight when the door blocked her view. "I knew there was more to tale than you say, da? It seems you have done damage at Mr. Sweden's property."

So much for Sweden not telling Russia she'd been over there. Slovakia was annoyed she believed Ukraine for the tiniest moment. Yekaterina had a bad habit of believing the best in everyone, even countries like Russia and Belarus. 

"Ivan-" Ukraine began, but Russia interrupted her.

"Tell me, Slovakia, did you stay long?"

Dominika shook her head vehemently, doing her best to hold back another barrage of tears. 'I can't show emotion, I can't show fear. I can't show emotion, I can't show...'

Fear. Which was exactly what she felt. Russia fed off of that. He loved seeing their fear, their terror of him and what he could do to them. The damage he could inflict on them which in turn was inflicted on their people, their nations, their responsibilities.

"Is that so?" Russia held up a coat. Slovakia's breath caught. "How come he has your coat?"

"I don't know," Slovakia whispered. "I mean, I do, he grabbed it. He tried to stop me when I crashed in his yard, but Russia! I did not stay!"

"Oh?" He stepped forward, took hold of her arm and pulled her out of Ukraine's gasp. "Well that's okay. You get to, now."

She... got to... what?

"Ivan!" Ukraine cried, leaping up and catching Slovakia's other arm. Russia looked down at his sister with the same, placid smile. "No, please, wait! What are you doing?"

"She must pay back," Russia replied cheerfully. 

"Sweden insists. She make damage, I will not pay for it. Slovakia is to stay with Sweden until debts are paid back. I take care of her land while she's gone. She has to pay back. In full."

She may have blacked out for a second. That or her ears stopped working, for she only caught the tail end of the sentence.

"...fault," Ukraine was saying. "Surely that wasn't his suggestion."

"Da. But of course." Russia's face darkened just a tad. He gave a short tug on Slovakia's arm, out of Ukraine's grasp. "Not my idea. I would rather have big punishment for little Slovakia than send her to him."

"She needs to pack some clothes," Ukraine stated firmly.

What was this? Ukraine, talking back? Ukraine never talked back. She countered and made suggestions but didn't talk back. And here she was, doing it to her own brother, on the account of Slovakia. Though it was more of a compromise than an actual challenge. 'I'm going to stay with Sweden.'

She wanted to throw up.

Russia hesitated, looked down at Slovakia, then slowly nodded and released her. "Three minutes. Then go. I want you back soon, Slovakia. I do not want you there too long in his hands. We don't want anything to happen to you, da?" Russia looked over at Ukraine. 

"Katyusha, hurry up, please."

With that he left the room, closing the door behind him. The scattering sounds of several feet were enough to confirm everyone in the Soviet House and Eastern Bloc Home had been outside her door to hear everything.  
For a few seconds, neither one said a word. Ukraine shook her head, muttered in her own language, then gently pulled Slovakia to her drawer and began to pull clothes out. "Come, Dariya."

How was it that being with Mr. Sweden, a westernized country, terrified her more than remaining here with Russia and getting the worst beating she'd ever experienced?

Simple. She knew how Russia worked. Sweden was a dangerous mystery and she didn't like the odds of trying to understand him. No one knew how he worked. Not even his neighbor Finland.

"He's going to kill me," she whimpered.

Ukraine shook her head. "He won't hurt you, Slovakia."

"How do you know! He's demanded I come stay with him and work for him and Russia let him! He got what he wanted from Russia!" Slovakia threw herself onto her little bed, clutching her pillow until her knuckles turned white. "Yekaterina what if he does something to me!"

"He won't!" Ukraine snapped.

Never in her life had Ukraine snapped at her. She slid off the bed, staring at the woman. So many things that didn't make sense, so many confusing, conflicting details. Her life had turned upside down.

"Oh Dariya I'm sorry." Ukraine reached over and hugged her, a tiny tear dripping off her face and onto Dominika's cheek. She sniffed, running her fingers through Slovakia's hair. "It's okay. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. Don't be afraid of Sweden, he won't touch you at all."

"How do you know?" she whispered, Yekaterina's tears starting more of her own. She clutched Ukraine's white shirt, unable to let go. "You were wrong, he told Russia what I did."

"Yes, but I'm sure it was for a reason," Ukraine said with confidence. She released Dominika and smoothed a hair over her ear, her fingers lingering on Slovakia's cheek. "I know Sweden, Slovakia. I've known him since I was very young. He is kind. Quiet, but kind. He would never hurt you."

"He chased Russia," she pointed out.

"Well, many people chased little brother. Sweden was one of the many."

"He was a Viking."

"Yes," Ukraine admitted. "And a good one, too. But he's nothing like Norway or Denmark, he did far less raiding than either one of them."

The door opened again, Russia standing outside. 

"Slovakia. Come," he ordered. It was rare for him to say anything without some sadistic phrase or ridiculous laugh. He was straightforward and to the point.  
He was pretty darn mad.

Slovakia rose to go, Ukraine putting a handful of clothes in her arms. The oldest Slavic country put a hand on her shoulder, locking gazes with Dominika. "My Dariya," she said softly. "You will be okay. Trust me."

The last thing she wanted to do was end on a bad note with Ukraine. Slovakia nodded, though her heart wasn't in it, and forced herself to walk to Russia. He gently took her arm and led her down the stairs, past the eyes of all her comrades here in the Home. Sympathy, terror, fear, disgust, anger was written clearly on their faces. Romania, Czech and Bulgaria couldn't even look her in the face. Romania appeared to have shed a tear or two.

'I'm going to stay with Sweden.'

The cold air cut through her thin jacket like a knife through butter. She shivered, and, Russia noticing, handed her the coat Sweden had returned. "Yours," he said simply. A tiny grin crossed his face. He patted her head. "Now I do not have to buy new one. That is good."

She put the coat on without a word, trying to avert her eyes from the man in blue standing only fifty feet away from her.

Down the steps. Across the yard. Russia led her right up to the man, and with a slight shove pushed her in front of him.

"Here she is," Ivan said simply. "I expect to have her returned the second she is done with work, da?"

"Mm," Sweden grunted.

'I'm going to stay with Sweden.'

She couldn't look up. The cold that originally had hurt her cheeks, hands and body no longer could be felt. A hand under her chin. Sweden tilted her head up to look him right in his solemn, terrifying and angry green eyes. He stared down at her and she up at him, unable to do anything else since he'd forced her to gaze upon his frightening countenance.

"Mm," he grunted again. He adjusted his glasses, reached down and took her clothes from her arms, packing them in the bags of his big bay gelding.

"Do svidanniya Slovakiya," Russia said, his usual happy tone returning to his voice. He was enjoying the fact she was just about frozen with terror. "Come back soon, da? Work hard so you can return. And remember-" a cold edge overcame his tone, "-you are a Kommunist."

Those last words rang in her ears as Sweden took hold of her, effortlessly tossing her up onto his horse before mounting up behind her himself. His big arm wrapped around her arms, her waist, and held her firmly against his body. He turned the horse without so much as a good bye, kicking the gelding into a canter as he spirited her away from the horrid pit she'd called home for several, several years.

'I'm to stay with Sweden.  
"You are a Kommunist."  
I'm to stay with Sweden. I'm going to live with Sweden. I am a Kommunist. I belong to Russia.  
I have to stay with Sweden.'

All the way through Russia's backyard, across Finland's territory and back to the home she'd seen only a day earlier they went. In front of the home he stopped, Slovakia glancing at the place where a fence once stood. Had she really done all that damage? There was no fence!

Off the horse Sweden dismounted. She looked the other way, hands tightening in little balls when he reached up and pulled her into his arms, setting her on the snow. His hand remained gripped on her little arm. He threw the reins of the bay over the railing of the small little home, pulling her up the steps and to the house.

'I am to stay with Sweden.'

Opening the door he pushed her inside. A gentle push, but a push nonetheless. He stepped in and shut the door behind him, stomping the snow off his boots before slamming the door behind him.

'I am to stay with Sweden.'

She could barely take the room in around her, let alone the large man in front of her. Once more Slovakia and Mr. Sweden gazed at each other, and Slovakia could only murmur a small 'help me' to no one in particular as the tall, former Viking stared down at her with the kindness of a malicious tiger.

'I'm staying with Sweden.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the terrifying Sweden manages to get his way with Russia once again! Also, did I detect a little bit of blushing from Ukraine when she talked about Sweden? Read more to find out! Thanks for reading this far!


	4. Chapter 4

At first Slovakia wondered, breathlessly, if he was going to stand there all day and stare down at her, what little emotion he may have had in his piercing, green eyes distorted by the sharp spectacles resting on the brim of his nose. Of a sudden he moved, and it was all she could do not to leap out of his reach. Once more the large nation put his hand on her arm, this time pushing her through the entryway of the small cabin and into a small kitchen. He pointed at a chair with a grunt, and she obeyed with a quick scoot into the chair.

Grunting once more, Mr. Sweden turned around and left the room, the door signaling he’d gone back outside to tend to his horse.

She was alone in his kitchen.

Slovakia had never been so frightened in her life. Not when Germany took Czech away, not when he came back for her a year later, not even when Russia spirited them away to the Eastern Bloc Home. Sitting in the kitchen of the largest Nordic brought more terror to her heart than any of the previous events.

What was he planning on making her do, exactly?

The door to the cabin entered again. She jumped a bit, listening while Sweden once more stomped the snow off his boots. Click!

He’d locked the door, too. `He doesn’t want me to escape.'

That was not comforting in the least.

Heavy footsteps paused outside of the kitchen. A sigh, some other noise. Slovakia trembled where she sat, forcing herself to stare at the table in front of her. `Oh, it looks hand carved', she observed.

It was better to stare at a hand carved table and wonder who had made it than face her new “captor”. A creak at the doorway to the kitchen told her what she needed to know, he was back and staring at her once more.  
“Mm.”

She couldn’t decide if he was thinking to himself or trying to get her attention. Dominika continued to stare at the table. 'Those are pretty little horses on the side of the table, too. Someone put a lot of work into this.'

“G’rl.”

Now she couldn’t avoid him anymore. Slovakia looked up at Mr. Sweden, the man’s coat in his arm and a hard expression on his face. Confident he had her attention now, he gestured to an icebox. “H’ngry?”

No. She was Slovakia. Unless he was asking if she was hungry. It was hard to understand him. Instead of replying she gave him a blank stare, forcing the Swede to act for himself. He strode across the kitchen, went to the icebox and opened it, pulling out some strange and suspicious looking dish.

“H’ngry?” he asked again.

So he meant the food. She shrugged, unsure of what else to do. If he was offering her food she wasn’t about to decline, but she didn’t want to seem too eager, either. It could be a trap. She didn’t know. Oh, Slovakia didn’t know anything about this man.

Sweden pulled something else of the icebox, gathered the items and set them in front of her. Next he opened a dark oak cupboard, pulling out some dishes and a platter of dark looking food. He set an empty plate in front of her, a cup and a knife. Mr. Sweden then set what she realized to be some strange sort of bread on her plate, along with a piece of cheese. He then proceeded to give her a cup, turned his back and headed for his stove. He put a pot on and fired it up, never looking back at her.

Never speaking.

She hadn’t realized how nervous she was until she tried to sneak a bite of the cheese and discovered her hands were shaking. This won’t do.

If Sweden was anything like Russia, which she had yet to confirm, showing fear wouldn’t help her situation. She set the food down and didn’t look at it. She was hungry, yes, but if her hands shook that betrayed her true feelings. It was best to act indifferent, to pretend she didn’t want anything and give the big Scandinavian a cold shoulder.

“N’t h’ngry?”

He was watching her? Dominika snapped her head up and saw he was indeed gazing at her from the corner of his eye. His thick accent was extremely hard to understand. His expression harder. She took the safe route and didn’t respond.

The Swede seemed to be fine with that. He wasn’t about to strike up conversation. He went back to focusing on whatever had on the stove.

Two minutes. Then five. Slovakia began to count the time in her mind, trying to keep herself distracted. This was awkward. So very awkward and unnerving. Wasn’t she supposed to be working? Why was she sitting here? Maybe Mr. Sweden was hungry. Or maybe this was like the Soviet tactic to try and get you to warm up to them, so he could manipulate her and get her to do whatever it was he wanted. Or maybe-

She jumped when he set a pot of something on a hot pad in front of her. In awe she watched while he picked up first her cup and filled it up, then his own, with the dark liquid. It wasn’t tea, either.

'Ah, it’s coffee,' she realized. 

They didn’t drink such things in the Eastern Bloc. And he’d poured it in such tiny cups. Who drank from such tiny chashkas?

Taking his seat across from her, the big Swede set the pot down. And stared at her.

In fact they locked gazes for a good thirty seconds or more, though it felt like an eternity to Slovakia. She knew this game, she’d played it with Russia. You didn’t look away. If you looked away you’d shown your fear, you’d given submission. Unless he wanted her to submit to his fierce, terrible expression? Perhaps that’s what he wanted. 'I don’t know I don’t know, Ukraine save me!'

At last he picked up the tiny little coffee cup, dwarfed by his massive hands. Mr. Sweden took a little sip, still eying her. “Dr’nk.”

Was that an order or a suggestion? Slovakia picked up the cup, still watching Sweden warily, and took sip of the coffee like she would any cup of tea.

Big mistake.

Dominika began to choke on the hot liquid, her throat burning. Hot! Strong! Hot!

This was nothing like tea, the thick liquid just about killed her with it’s strong taste. She’d never had anything like this before, and it hurt, hurt, hurt!

Sweden got up and headed for the sink. She tried to find something to drink other than the killer coffee, still hacking. Her eyes watered, her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Mr. Sweden returned to the table with a cup of water, pushing it into her hands. She took it and gulped it down, only pausing to take a breath.

It did the trick. Her throat stopped burning. Sighing, Dominika pushed the coffee back towards Sweden, distrustful that he’d known all along she’d do that. This must be some sort of test.

Some test that involved on if you choked on coffee or not.

Sweden might have raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t say anything. He finished his cup, took hers and poured it into his. “Mm,” he mumbled.

It wasn’t until he’d poured himself a third cup that Slovakia ventured to wonder if she was supposed to sit here and watch him drink coffee or if he expected her to eat the food he’d given her. After the coffee experience she’d decided it would be best not to try anything he’d given her, lest she have the same reaction. When he picked up a piece of the bread and took a bite, she fixed her eyes on her feet and didn’t look up.

“Mm?”  
Sweden’s hand appeared in her immediate vision. He tapped her plate.

She pushed it to him, though her stomach protested. 'I will not give in. I will not cave.'

There was no doubt in Dominika’s mind this was some sort of trial. Either to gain her trust to use against her, or cause her humiliation. Either way, he wasn’t getting to her.

“Mm,” he said again. It seemed to be a favorite expression of his. He studied her, never blinking, motive and emotion hidden behind those sea-green eyes and placid countenance. Pushing his glasses further up his nose, he stood and beckoned her to follow him.

Heart back in her throat, she hesitated. Mr. Sweden stood at the door to the kitchen, waiting for her.

“C’me,” he said coldly.

Slovakia timidly stood, leaving the table to follow the king of Scandinavia up a small flight of stairs. It was all she could do to keep herself from fleeing, putting one foot in front of the other. 'I must not show fear, I must not show fear.'

Past the first room on the right, he paused outside of a small doorway. Shoving it open, he put his hand behind her back and pushed her into a small bedroom, about the size of the one she shared with Hungary. Except this one she’d be in all alone.

“Y’rs,” Sweden muttered. He pointed to a chest. “Cl’ths.”

“They’re in the saddlebag,” she managed.

“Mm.” He turned and walked out, leaving her alone in the bedroom.

She listened for the front door, waiting until she was sure he was outside before edging to the bed. Climbing onto where she was to sleep for who knew how long, a stinging, hot tear dripped from her eye.

Hiding her face in the old, dusty pillow, she let the tears flow and the sobs come, muffled by the pillowcase. When Sweden returned with the saddlebag that held her clothes, she made sure he would not notice a single tear had been shed.  
She wasn’t going to let him get to her. She would remain strong, steadfast, and do what she had to so she could leave sooner.

Slovakia didn’t know how she was going to survive these next few weeks under the terrifying presence of Mr. Sweden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, poor Slovakia! If she could only understand what a sweetheart ol' Sve is. Hope you enjoyed, see you at the next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andddd guess who just found the rich text formatting option XD

Daybreak came late in the Nordic man's home. However when the sun did peak at about eight o'clock in the morning, it found Slovakia sound asleep in bed.

Worst of all, when she did awake at nine-thirty, she realized Mr. Sweden hadn't even gotten her up, despite the fact he'd informed her the night before he began work the moment the sun rose.

It was with great haste she dressed warm for the day and pounded down the steps, only to find the large Scandinavian sitting in the kitchen with a book in one hand and a coffee mug in the other. He lifted his gaze when she entered the room and gave a slight nod toward the spot across from him, where a plate of- well, she wasn't sure what- was set out for her.

" _ G’d m’rgon, _ " Sweden grunted.

" _ Dobroye utro, _ " Slovakia responded, albeit stiffly.

"Mm." He pointed at her seat with a wave of his hand, returning his gaze to the book he was reading.

Slovakia ate her breakfast in silence across from Sweden, who, for the most part, completely ignored her while he read his book and drank his coffee. She wasn’t sure if she should be miffed at him or glad he didn’t speak to her. In any case, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a good meal. The mixture of sauerkraut, potatoes, beets, and sausage was the best meal she’d had in months, possibly the last year. They had nothing like this in the Eastern bloc. The hunger that had gnawed at her last night due to her stubbornness was satisfied now. She resolved that, no matter how much she hated being here and feared for her safety, she would eat whatever the Swede gave her. Might as well take advantage of at least that element. If this food was meant to be “bare bones” and a punishment, Mr. Sweden had no idea what it was like in Eastern Europe. 

While she ate her meal, there were several instances where she caught him glowering at her from above the pages of the book. Whenever he realized she’d seen him, though, he would slowly lower his eyes again. If he was mad at her, she’d prefer he’d come right out and yell at her. Why was it men like Sweden and Russia preferred to leave you quaking in the corner while they smiled, or, in Sweden’s case, glared at you until you couldn’t stand it any longer?

When she’d finished her food, Slovakia pushed the plate away and fixed her gaze on the blonde viking in front of her.  _ Show no fear, push it away. Be bold. Be abrupt. _

“What am I to do today?” she asked, getting straight to the point. No use sitting around here and waiting for him to speak.

Sweden didn’t respond right away. He set the book down and put a marker in it. Dominika stilled herself when he looked up once more. He simply stared at her like she should know what her duties were.

“F’nce,” he said finally. The Swede finished up his coffee and stood. “Mmm… f’llow m’.”

_ What is with his accent?  _ She wondered. And Slavics were supposed to have hard accents to decipher. She could barely understand him. Something about following him. She had no idea what the first part of the sentence was.

To the door he went, so Dominika rose and did the same. He put on his big, long blue overcoat, his boots, and then a thick, knit cap. She followed suit and donned her own winter clothes, but when she felt the top of her head she realized, with dismay, she’d left her ushanka behind at the Eastern bloc home.

_ Plop! _ A large, blue and yellow something landed on her head. Dominika yelped and stumbled back, pushing it off her eyes to find Sweden watching her curiously.

“H’t,” he mumbled.

Well she knew  _ that. _ At least he’d been nice enough to give her one. “ _ Spasibo, _ ” she said quietly.

Sweden opened the door and walked out, waiting for her on the front porch.

Once outside, it became apparent that what Mr. Sweden had meant by “f’nce” was, in fact, fence.

And it was gone.

It only took a quick glance for the young Slovakian to become acutely aware that the damage done was by no means her fault.  _ This is ridiculous. _

She spied an area that was splintered and noticed the tracks in the snow- hers and Mr. Sweden’s. Ah. Their encounter from two days ago. No new snow had fallen since then, the evidence was clear.

Something else had broken Mr. Sweden’s fence and he was blaming  _ her _ for it so he could get  _ her  _ to fix it! This wasn’t a matter of fixing the wrong she had done, it was getting free labor!  _ What a big jerk! _ she fumed inwardly.

“St’rt.”

Dominika jumped inwardly, glancing up at the big Swede. He pointed a gloved hand behind her, his breath clearly visible in the frigid temperatures. She turned her gaze behind and beheld several posts on the ground. “Cl’n up.”

This was unfair. Unethical. Ukraine was dead wrong about her old acquaintance the Swede. Of all the dirty rotten tricks to pull, he’d told Russia she was responsible for this wreck? For crying out loud, stooping down to examine the first post it became clear someone had pulled it out. Unbelievable! No doubt he just wanted a new fence and decided to blame the whole thing on her.

Slovakia turned to him, her green eyes flashing and lips pursed. “ _ Nyet, _ ” she wanted to shout, loud as she could. “You fix your own stupid fence. I have nothing to do with this! I’m going back to the Eastern Bloc. Enjoy your own home improvement!”

The words circled in her brain, on the tip of her tongue, but once facing the Lion of the North she found she was at a sudden loss of speech.  _ What am I thinking? _

Sweden eyed her, solemn, unfeeling, then pointed behind her again. “St’ck.”

Without a word she turned and picked up the post, all defiance and courage fleeing her heated spirit.  _ What am I thinking, anyway? This is Sweden. He’s so much bigger than me. Who am I to defy him? _

With resentment in her heart and shame settling into her soul, she went to work moving the posts from the snow and stacking them next to the barn. Judging from the size of the Northern Germanic’s property, just collecting the posts and rails would take the better part of a day and a half. A pit formed in her stomach, foul words forming in her brain.

_ I’m going to be stuck here forever. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweden what on earth are you planning? Guess you will have to read the next chapter when it comes out to know! Thanks for reading so far, I really appreciate it! Have a blessed Thanksgiving!


	6. Chapter 6

"F'ka."

For the love of pirogi, Dominika could not get used to the Swedish man's voice. He was so quiet, too, that she didn't hear him when he came up behind her. She jumped, dropping the pole onto the stack, and inwardly kicking herself for such an outward display of inner emotions.

"What?" she asked, trying to hold back the timid edge to her tone. She rubbed her running nose against the sleeve of her coat, grimacing at how much snot was there. Yuck. It was cold out here.

"F'ka," Mr. Sweden repeated. He pointed to the porch, gesturing for her to follow. "Mm."

Several hours had passed since they'd begun their work. Slovakia trailed behind the Swede, her eyes straying to the large stack of wooden posts and rails they'd put up. Of the wood they'd put together, she herself could only account for one fourth, if that much, of what had been stacked there.  _ I really don't know why he wants me helping him. _

Or why he'd lied in the first place and blamed her for this wreck. This man didn't make any sense. He'd dragged her back to his home, from the Eastern Bloc, and had her out here in the cold with him working while he did most of it and she struggled to help. Though she hated to admit it, she was nowhere near able to keep up with his stamina and strength. In all honesty, she felt more like a hassle than a worker.

Sweden stomped snow outside of his porch, then opened the door and strode in. He stopped and turned, holding the door open for her to follow.

The house. Oh she hated being in there with him. With a shiver she hoped he would pass off as her being cold, she imitated his stomp and slipped in, fumbling to unbutton her coat. Sweden took his blue overcoat off, stepped out of his knee-high fur snow boots, pulled his gloves off and was removing his hat by the time Slovakia had managed to get three buttons down on the coat. And he was  _ not _ that fast. Her fingers were numb, she felt stupid for being so cold when she was a Slav.  _ Except I'm a southern Slav, we don't have winters like this. _

Somehow it felt colder here in the Nordic land than it did in her own forgiving Eastern Bloc home. Or was that just the atmosphere?

"Mm."

Dominika started at Sweden's touch, his big hands enclosing over her little ones to gently unbutton her coat. She refused the urge to push him away, to cower while he went to work freeing her from the coat. Getting to the last button, he pulled it with a touch as light as Hungary's, hanging it up next to his massive one. She quickly pulled off her gloves and stumbled out of her boots, not wanting the same unexpected kindness to happen again.  _ I'm not a child, _ she thought inwardly, though inside she felt a mix of unexpected warmth and fear.

No one had ever done that for her, except Hungary and Ukraine.

Hungary. A wave of homesickness threatened to sweep over her. She pushed it away and fell into step behind Mr. Sweden.

Big surprise, he headed straight for his coffee pot and turned on the burner, pulling out a coffee bean grinder and some of the precious beans from the cupboard.

"You drink a lot of coffee."

The words were out of her before she could recant them. Slovakia's mouth snapped shut. She turned her gaze down at the floor when Sweden turned to face her.

"Mm." Quiet for a second. Then, " _ Ja. _ "

It was a stupid statement. She didn't know why she'd even said it. Slipping into a chair, she resorted to finger tracing the horses on the side of the table, wondering once more who had taken the time to craft such a beautiful piece of wood. Wouldn't it be nice to have that amount of time on your hands to create something pretty? She contemplated what that would be like.

When his coffee was ready, Sweden sat down across from her and pushed her a cup, filling it with his nasty tasting liquid. "F'ka," he said, using that same strange word. He filled his own cup, waving a hand at hers. "Dr'nk."

Didn't he remember yesterday's incident? Dominika eyed the dark liquid with distaste, annoyed he'd give it to her again when she clearly didn't like it.

Apparently this was not acceptable to the Swede. He frowned, his already permanent glare worsening. He pushed it a little closer to her hand. "Dr'nk."

"I'd... rather not," she said at last.

She could have sworn she'd said the dirtiest word that existed in his language. Sweden set his cup down and stared at her, his gaze so intense she squirmed in her seat. 

"Mm?"

"I'd rather not drink it. I- I don't like it," she offered up hesitantly.

Mr. Sweden did not looked impressed. He leaned back in his chair. The clock in the kitchen began to tick of the seconds. Slovakia wondered how long he'd sit there in judgement of the fact she'd just denied his offer of coffee, but her question was answered soon enough.

"C'ffee's g'd for y'."

Wow. New record, four words in one sentence. She was glad he couldn't read her sarcastic thoughts. "Why?"

It was probably no better than him being able to read her mind. "F'ka...mm...imp'rtant."

"What's f'ka, though?  _ Ya ne ponimayu,  _ I do not understand. I am Slovakian," she pointed out.

"F'ka," he repeated, slowly. " _ Fika _ ."

" _ Fika? _ " she tried.

"Mm."

Well why hadn't he said so in the first place? He couldn't expect her to pronounce it right if he couldn't pronounce it himself. Dominika gazed at her reflection in the brown liquid. "So what does it mean?  _ Kofe? _ "

" _ Nej. _ " He shook his head. "It...'s...sp'cial. Br'k fr'm w'rk. S'cializin'. R'lationsh'ps."

A break from work? Socializing? Relationships? She didn't understand. How did this word, this  _ fika, _ relate to the fact he wanted her to drink coffee? Slovakia was mystified.

And, apparently, that was clear to Sweden. He stood up and went to the cupboard, bringing out what appeared to be- cinnamon rolls? He brought them over and pushed her the plate, beckoning for her to take one. "I'll expl'n to ya."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aww, Slovakia, he's trying so hard to share his traditions with you! Hopefully she'll understand that soon. Hope you enjoyed!


	7. Chapter 7

_ He trudged through the snow, hands deep in his coat pockets, wondering what he'd say to her when he came. She'd only recently been brought back to live with her brother in the big Russian home, and he was well aware of Russia's thoughts of him. _

_ Russia. Just the thought of the young man was enough to leave some distaste in his mouth. He kicked at some snow, remembering with fondness the many times he'd chased the little Slav through the forests with Denmark. Good times. Before the brat became the monstrous nation he was now. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to terrorize him so much when he was little, but, what could he say? Had it not been for himself, Russia would never have even come into existence. Ukraine was the true leader of the Slavs, she was the first and the oldest among them. And yet she let her giant big brother push her around... _

_ Ukraine. Ah, just thinking of her brought a spring to his step and a slight blush to his cheeks. He recalled their first meeting, back when he was still a very young teenager and had been out exploring. He'd happened upon a little girl, watching him with the most beautiful big eyes he'd ever seen. When he finally managed to approach the shy little female, the only response he'd gotten to his short question, "Wh' ya?" _

_ Was a squeak with the response, "I do not know." _

_ Well, an adorable little girl like that couldn't go nameless. He followed her to her home, a small, shabby place that had seen much wear and tear, as well as abuse, from Mongolia, who watched them even now as he observed the young girl's home. This would never do, someone as adorable and cute as she shouldn't be left out here with no one to protect her. _

_ And she must have thought the same, looking up at him in his long cloak and sword on his hip. _

_ "Will you help me?" she begged, faint tears coming to her eyes. She clasped her hands next to him, staring up at his face with pure innocence. "Can you help me fix my home, and make it better?" _

_ He didn't need a second invitation. In fact, she had barely finished her first plea before he stepped forward and picked up a board hanging off the small hut, pushing it back in place. Something in his heart changed in that instant, beholding the girl. She was a couple years younger than he, but there was such eloquence, such beauty, in her figure and her eyes that he couldn't stay away even if he wanted to. _

_ And so, with her by his side he helped her rebuild her home, to ward off Mongolia, and to even give her a name. Kevian Rus'. Or later, Ukraine. _

_ He shook his head, thoughts turning back to the prize he had in his pocket.  _ I wonder if Ukraine will even like this?  _ he thought, his stomach churning. _

_ More importantly, would Russia even let him see the Slav's big sister? A deepening dislike for the big Slavic country settled in his heart. _

_ Why did Russia think he had any claim to his sister's home? Even more baffling, why had Ukraine let him push her around like that? _

_ Ah, she was in the yard by herself! Staring at a small bird that sat in the palm of her hand, eating the seeds she had. Her long, beautiful blonde hair crested her shoulders, ran down her back, almost down to her hips. Such beautiful hair she had. He found himself mesmerized, frozen in place. He couldn't move forward, he couldn't speak a word. Which, the latter was not all that unusual, he rarely spoke anyway. But basking in her beauty, her innocence, left him speechless. _

_ He forgot why he was even there. _

_ She looked up and saw him, her eyes flickering recognition before her whole face lit up in a massive smile. She was the only woman he knew who smiled when she saw him. In fact, the only person he had ever met in his whole life who smiled when she saw him. With a cry of glee she leapt to her feet, the terrified little bird flitting out of her hand to go and sit in a tree and chirp indignantly. _

_ "Sweden," she exclaimed, running forward. "Sweden, its you!" _

_He had no time to react, she simply threw her arms around him and hugged his midsection, not tall enough to reach up to his neck. Instinctively he reached down and gave her a light hug back, his breath caught at the fact he was hugging _her. Her,_ the most beautiful, darling woman in all the world, was in his arms and hugging him._

_ He jerked the bag out of his pocket in desperation, unsure of what else to do, and thrust it in her hands. "Try," he grunted, searching her eyes. "'Its...g'd." _

_ Ukraine beamed, opening the little bag to peer into it. "What is this?" she asked in wonder, smelling it. "It smells...delicious." _

_ With pride he slowly reached down and grasped her small hand in his large one, leading her toward the house. "K'fe," he announced. "And w'll h've it...t'geth'r." _

His mind snapped to the present, realizing the little Slavic girl was sitting there with a wary glance, watching his every move.

Why was she staring at him?

He realized, with dismay, he had promised to explain what  _ fika _ was all about, and why it was important. Yet here they were...how many minutes after he'd announced that? And he hadn't said a word. Instead he'd gotten sucked into one of his memories, recalling when he introduced Ukraine to coffee for the first time...

Oh gosh he was an idiot. He could have sworn his cheeks were turning red, so he let out a snort that caused the little girl to jump in front of him. He felt even more embarrassed by that.  _ I'm not going to hurt you, _ he lamented inwardly, saddened by the fear hidden behind the distrustful face in young Slovakia.

_ I would never hurt anyone. _

Well, except maybe Russia, who was responsible for making this poor child so terrified. Or maybe Sweden was just that scary looking, he never could decide.

"F'ka," he said at last, clearing his throat as he tried to think of way to explain what it meant without receding into memories. He had never been good with words, or explanations. "F'ka...is fr'm l'ng time 'go. 'v'ryone drank it, 'nd it means..." he trailed off, not sure how to explain this. "Fr'nds," he said at last.

Her stare was almost comical, had it not been directed at him. She did not respond, but her silence was confirmation enough of what she thought of that nonsense.  _ You are not my friend. _

Of course he wasn't, what was he thinking. Once more he felt that tinge of embarrassment brush against his cheeks, and he dearly hoped it wasn't obvious to young Slovakia. Gosh he could not look into that little face without seeing Ukraine as a child. They bore that Slavic resemblance, though Slovakia's eyes were a deep shade of green.

The little Slavic girl hadn't touched her coffee. It was clear to him she wasn't going to, either, so he awkwardly reached over and took it away, pouring it into his own cup so it wouldn't go to waste. She was watching him intently again, though trying to avoid her gaze so he wouldn't notice she was. The kid made him uncomfortable, and he couldn't fathom why she refused to let any sort of feeling or emotion show on her face. For goodness sake she was too young to play the part of a placid, unfeeling adult! She looked to be barely above the age of eight, what had Russia done to this child to make her so hard?

There was little use in trying to get Slovakia to drink any coffee, so Sweden stood up and went to the icebox, pulling out what little milk he had left from when he'd made his last trip to Stockholm. He poured it into cup, turning around to push it toward her. He didn't say anything, though inside he felt a tad hurt she didn't like his coffee.  _ Its not that bad, is it?  _ he pondered.

She took the milk and drank it slowly, but at least she drank it. It baffled him that she didn't ever thank him for anything he did, wondering how she managed to live under Ukraine and not know at least some manners. Not that he minded, but still, wouldn't she have learned some etiquette under the gracious Slavic woman?

Unless Ukraine was completely under the control of Russia, and wasn't allowed any interaction with the other Soviet countries.

The very thought sent Sweden's fists into tight balls. He turned abruptly away so the child wouldn't see his scowl, aware that his resting face was contorted enough that anyone who saw his scowl would be scared to death. He put the milk back and made a mental note that he'd have to make a trip to Stockholm soon.

Perhaps he should bring Slovakia with him?

He was getting ahead of himself, first things first. He had to get her to trust him before he could move forward with anything else. As it was, that didn't seem to be going anywhere fast. His very touch caused her to freeze in his grasp. He terrified her in every way, and she was not likely to drop her defensive behavior for a good long while.

_ I may not have saved Ukraine, but God help me if I don't show this child there are some decent people in the world, _ he lamented.

Glancing over his shoulder and catching sight of the shivering little figure at his dinner table, he wondered if were even possible to get through to this child.

And if he even had the ability to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sve, he's really having a tough time of it. :'( I feel so bad for him. (Nevermind I'm putting him through this, cough, cough.) Also yes I know Ukraine doesn't have super long hair but in Sve's memory of their teen years, I thought it would be sweet if she did.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, hopefully I have your interest. Leave a comment or a like if you want to read more! Thanks for checking my story out! 
> 
> -Emiliya


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